


Heaven or Hell

by AbigailPickardWrites



Series: Here's to the Villains [8]
Category: Notre-Dame de Paris | The Hunchback of Notre-Dame - All Media Types, Notre-Dame de Paris | The Hunchback of Notre-Dame - Victor Hugo
Genre: I'm Sorry Victor Hugo, Musicals, Paris (City), Persecution of racial minorities, Religious Conflict, Religious Fanaticism, Religious Guilt, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Sexual Assault, Short Story, Unrequited Lust, Villains
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-19
Updated: 2019-09-19
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:22:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27440395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AbigailPickardWrites/pseuds/AbigailPickardWrites
Summary: Archdeacon Claude Frollo (The Hunchback of Notre Dame)'s story, explainedTHIS IS NOT A HAPPY STORYAlso, it should be made known that the author hates Claude Frollo. This was a way to challenge myself because I always said I wouldn't ever be able to explain this horrible man's actions. I still haven't, but I made an artistic little piece.
Series: Here's to the Villains [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2004667
Kudos: 1





	Heaven or Hell

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: Major character death, sexual assault, implied/referenced sexual content, religion used as a weapon, death by fire/smoke inhalation, death by falling, murder, execution, satanical interference, fire, violence, unreliable main character, use of the word g*psy, racism, racial discrimination, attempted genocide

They say that you always know when you see the face of an angel. Or at least, that is what young Claude Frollo had been told before by the Catholic Pope. As he was pulled from his slumber by intense light and looked into the face standing at the foot of his bed, he knew.

Frollo sat up as quickly as he could, pressing his back to his headboard.

"Do not be afraid," the angel said, "I am here to give you a mission from the Lord."

He summoned the courage to stutter out, "W- What?"

"God has commanded you to wipe his foes from the Earth with flame and sword, as a soldier of heaven."

He swallowed hard. "W- Who are you, exactly?"

"My name is Adriel, the angel of death and destruction. God and his archangel Micheal have waged war upon the enemies of heaven. I have come to assign you a task from God."

Claude Frollo didn't want to annoy an angel, but he just gasped out another fearful question. "What do you want me to do?"

"Purge this world of the gypsies. They are an unholy people drowning in lust, greed, and the depths of impurity. Their sin must be punished. Burn them all and send them to hell."

Frollo shook his head in confusion and ran a hand through his hair. "You want me to murder them? God wants me to destroy a race of people?"

"You will not be alone. Saint Maurice and I will fight the war with you, and many of our warriors are spread across the Earth. You must show the Catholic people the corruption in their ways."

He nodded solemnly. God had tasked him with this. He had a job to do. Even when humanity overlooked it, heaven had seen that he was special, he was worth something. Now he was fighting a holy war, and he was going to win. He would prove his worth to those that really mattered, the saints and angels that he would one day spend eternity with.

"I will."

Adriel smiled and disappeared in a flash of blinding light. Claude Frollo was left in a dark room that felt darker than it had before the angel's appearance.

"For he shall give his angels charge over thee, to keep thee in all thy ways." -Psalms 91:11

~+~

The richly bound books on the shelves of Notre Dame spoke of the crusades three centuries before. Of heroes of that time: Peter the Hermit, King Louis VII, Bernard of Clairvaux, and Claude Frollo's personal favorite, Pope Urban II. The Archdeacon slid his fingers across their firm spines and breathed in the smell of them. His trailing hand stopped at the finest copy of the Holy Bible in the whole library. He withdrew it and carefully set it down on one of the rich rosewood desks. The candle flickered beside him, illuminating the verses he held so dear.

Psalm 143:12- And of thy mercy cut off my enemies, and destroy all them that afflict my soul

He nodded. He was on the right path. Sometimes he doubted it. What made the elimination of the gypsies right? But as soon as he opened the scripture it was there. All the assurance he needed. The Lord has spoken and he would obey. He was a soldier of heaven. He had been chosen. He wouldn't let them down.

He returned the book to its shelf and picked up the candle by the chamberstick. The heavy doors thudded shut behind him as he walked softly down the limestone corridors.

As he walked and listened to his footsteps, he sighed. He wanted company, so he climbed the steps to the bell tower where Quasimodo was. He was looking out over the city of Paris at dusk, and Frollo stepped up to join him. Quasimodo's eyes were fixed on the gypsies below, moving through the square, setting up for the one day per year when they were not persecuted.

Frollo scowled. "They're foul, my boy. Look at them. They are preparing for the Feast of Fools tomorrow, so they can celebrate their debauchery. Come in, don't look at them."

Quasimodo sighed as Frollo placed a hand on his misshapen back and led him inside. The hunchback sat down on his bed and fiddled with his thumbs.

"Now," said Frollo, lighting Quasimodo's candle with his own, "study your hymns, recite your verses, and don't forget to pray before you go to sleep."

Quasimodo nodded. "I will."

Frollo noticed him glance at the window again. He sighed. "Remember, my boy, this is your sanctuary."

Quasimodo nodded. "Sanctuary."

Satisfied, Claude Frollo left the bell tower. Tomorrow, he'd have to stuff his feelings of hatred deep inside to make it through the Feast of Fools, and for that, he'd need a full night's rest.

"Neither shall he go out of the sanctuary, nor profane the sanctuary of his God; for the crown of the anointing oil of his God is upon him: I am the Lord." -Leviticus 21:12

~+~

The next morning was spent deep in the library of Notre Dame for Claude Frollo. He was pouring over Revelations, writing furiously on parchment beside his Bible and taking breaks to pray. But each time he got close to interpreting a new verse, he would hear shouts or music or laughter from outside and be distracted. Even with the thick stone walls, the Feast of Fools could be heard.

Frollo finally surrendered, put the Bible back on the shelf, and decided to go teach Quasimodo about a new saint or another parable. When he reached the bell tower, he realized that Quasimodo was gone. Frollo brushed it off. He must be getting lunch from the storeroom. Yesterday he had told him that there was some Italian bread down there and he seemed excited. He was probably stuffing his face with it at the moment.

He looked out at the market square outside the cathedral. There was confetti and ribbon everywhere as people played lively music and bustled around.

Some female gypsy dancers emerged from a tent wrapped in silks. Sheer fabric hung off their bodies and swirled like mist. Their ribbons fluttered in the wind as they danced and plenty of their skin was revealed to the crowd. Frollo scrunched his nose in disgust, but then the headliner emerged.

A gypsy girl took the lead, spinning with a tambourine. They introduced her as the most beautiful girl in France, and it only took a heartbeat for Frollo to realize that they were right.

She swung her hips and skirts hypnotically, gold threads laced into her purple dress flashing in the light. Claude Frollo couldn't believe his eyes, she danced like the devil and it mesmerized him. He felt heat rush through his veins and his chest clench.

He whipped around and retreated from the bell tower and rushed to the library, slamming the door behind him. He fell to his knees, trembling.

"Lord, forgive me for I have sinned and fallen prey to lust. Saint Maria, don't let her capture my mind, keep me pure!"

He heaved deep breaths and finally regained his composure. "This is the work of the devil," he told himself, "she is a demon of hell sent to pull me from the righteous path, to cease my efforts to eradicate the gypsies. This is Satan's plan."

He heard more sound from the festival but this time he did not leave the library, instead deciding to prepare for the next day when he would continue his mission.

"You will pursue your enemies, and they will fall by the sword before you... Leviticus 26:7"

~+~

The next morning, Claude Frollo captured seven gypsies on charges of disruption with the new captain of the guard, Phoebus, and returned to Notre Dame feeling as if it had been a good day's work.

He entered the building and expected to be alone but he was not. In the chapel, a girl with dark hair sat in a pew, her back to him and her head bent in prayer. He approached her, ready to give spiritual guidance to a conflicted Catholic, but when she looked up he met the sensual eyes of the gypsy girl that had bewitched him the day before.

He took a step back as if burned by her presence. "Demon..." he whispered under his breath.

The girl stood. "Archdeacon Frollo."

"You're a gypsy, what are you doing in sacred Notre Dame? You are impure!" He cried, anger bubbling in his chest.

She looked offended. "Impure?"

Frollo stared back at her. She had a seductive voice and her sleeve hung off her shoulder, revealing smooth skin underneath. Claude Frollo realized that he did not want her to leave.

"Stop!" he told himself, "She is a gypsy and an enemy of heaven. You cannot think of her like that."

But then he had an idea. What if she wasn't an enemy of heaven?

"Yes. You are impure and you bathe in sin. But..." he paused, "but I can help you. I can lead you to God, ensure your immortal soul will see heaven's pearly gates."

The girl shook her head. "No thank you."

Frollo felt anger swim inside him. "Then I have no choice. You are a gypsy and a servant of hell. You will not enter this holy place. CAPTAIN!"

The newly instated captain of the guard rushed in, drawing his sword. "Yes, Archdeacon Frollo."

"Remove this witch from the premise by any force necessary."

The gypsy girl shook her head. "Sanctuary! I claim sanctuary!"

"Fine. Claim sanctuary. But I will not feed you or give you water, and the moment you step outside those doors, you are no longer under Notre Dame's protection. Phoebus, keep a close watch on her."

Phoebus nodded, sheathing his sword. "What's your name?" He asked her.

"Esmeralda," she replied.

Claude Frollo shook his head at the way Phoebus spoke to her. So friendly. He stormed to his cold chambers to study, away from Esmeralda before she set off any more sparks in his mind.

Little did he know that as he lay cursing the devil for sending Esmeralda to him and asking heaven for strength in destroying her that Satan did not send her and heaven did not want her destroyed. It was the other way around.

"Watch ye and pray, lest ye enter into temptation. The spirit truly is ready, but the flesh is weak." -Mark 14:38

~+~

The next morning, Esmeralda had slipped away right out from under Phoebus' nose. Claude Frollo was livid, and the hunt for Esmeralda commenced, and gold was offered to anyone who would give them a hint to where she hid.

In the meantime, they torched buildings that gypsies had inhabited before, arrested them, and burned homes to the ground. Anyone that knew who Esmeralda was was interrogated and sometimes harmed. Frollo became merciless and obsessed with finding her, burning bridges, dangling threats, and leaving scars. Everywhere he went Phoebus and his guards did too, and together they struck terror into everyone they encountered. For a long time, so one spoke. But when the price for Esmeralda and Frollo's rage reached a peak, someone cracked. Esmeralda's traitor spoke of a brothel where gypsy girls sometimes worked or were hid from harm and said that Esmeralda was one of them from time to time.

Frollo and Phoebus seized their torches and went to the brothel they had been directed to, determined to take the girl that had haunted their minds.

"Where is she?" He demanded the moment he entered the establishment.

The woman at the counter looked up. "Where's who?"

"Esmerelda. We know your business supports gypsy girls."

"I know nothing of gypsy girls, I swear it buy the Saints of Notre Dame."

"Fine. Everyone, get out." Frollo demanded.

Customers scattered and ran from the building, unsure of what was going to happen next.

The woman stood defiantly until Phoebus escorted her out. Frollo followed, his heart beating rapidly. He was so close to his goal, he could feel it. "Is that everyone?"

The woman nodded.

"And Esmerelda is not inside, nor any other gypsies?"

She shook her head.

"Good. Phoebus, burn it."

"Wait!" The owner cried.

Frollo raised a brow. "If there's no one inside, then there's no problem."

"Please," she begged, "Please don't."

Frollo ignored her and turned back to his captain. "Burn it to the ground. "

The torch did not leave Phoebus's hand.

"Captain? Do as I commanded." Frollo repeated with an edge to his voice.

Still, he did not do as Frollo said.

"What has gotten into you? Has she bewitched you, too?"

Silence.

"Captain! Do it!"

Phoebus held the torch tighter.

"Carry out the order!"

He did not listen.

"You're throwing away a promising career!"

The warning did nothing.

"CAPTAIN!"

Phoebus finally spoke. "No."

"Fine, you are relieved of your duties to Notre Dame!"

"Consider it my highest honor," the captain retaliated.

Frollo's blood boiled. He would find Esmerelda, one way or another. "Guards! Arrest the Captain!"

The guards that had accompanied them seized him and forced him to his knees as Frollo snatched the torch from him and tossed it inside the doorway. The dry old wood of the brothel lit immediately, and the fire roared upwards towards the night sky. The smoke billowed and finally, gypsy women fled from within, draped with sheer cloths and jewels. Their exposed skin caught Frollo's attention, but none more than the last girl to run out, coughing. Esmerelda.

At the sight of her, Phoebus knocked the guards off him and grabbed Esmerelda's hand. They dashed off into the streets, the darkness enveloping them.

"GUARDS! AFTER THEM!" Frollo shouted, sending the might of Notre Dame after the gypsy and the captain.

"Who maketh his angels spirits; his ministers a flaming fire." -Psalms 104:4

~+~

Frollo told all of Paris about his calling from the Lord and how important it was to find Esmerelda and Phoebus. The religious joined the hunt and Notre Dame's rage was unleashed on all of the city. A fire burned through the night as more buildings were lit in attempts to choke out the gypsy girl.

The peals of the cathedral's bells caught Frollo's attention. Quasimodo had awoken the city of Paris with the ringing. It was a good idea, the best he could think of to help the people near the burning houses. But if they had to be harmed to find Esmerelda, it would be worth it.

By morning, Esmerelda and Pheobus had been recaptured and thrown into prison. Frollo paced his room, wringing his hands. He was conflicted. He had been so obsessed with finding her that he hadn't worked out what he wanted next. Killing her was God's mission, but he longed to sin with her.

"No," he said aloud to himself, "I can't..." But his will was weak.

He went to the prison where she was kept, dismissing the guard and entering the cell. She sat on a stone bench, hands chained and still barely clothed in a sheer dress. He body was hardly hidden beneath it, and something about the bondage of her hands made heat rush through Frollo's skin. He swallowed hard, fighting the urges in his mind.

"Esmerelda." He addressed her.

She slunk back, staring at him hatefully. "What do you want?"

"I want to redeem you, still. Gypsies are an impure people, it's true, but you can follow the Lord. I can lead you into the light and you can find your way to him instead of hell. I'll even spare that traitor, Captain Phoebus."

"You're crazy!" She snapped.

Frollo sighed. "If you cannot convert, you remain an enemy of heaven, and I must send you to the pit with Lucifer. Don't make me do that. I don't want to. I would much rather..." he stepped closer and closer until she was against the wall, unable to get away. "keep you. Let me have you and convert. Then you can live."

"No!" She said firmly. "Never."

Frollo put his hand on her waist, pushing her hips into the wall and pressing himself against her body. "I'd like you to reconsider." His other hand rested on her leg and started working it's way up from beneath the fabric.

"No! NO! STOP! STOP, DON'T TOUCH ME! HELP!"

Her screams echoed through the halls and Frollo heard footsteps. He stepped away from her, his hands still warm from her skin.

"Fine, witch. Burn. But if you change your mind, send the guard. I'll release you both."

Esmerelda barely heard him, sinking to the floor and shaking, beginning to cry.

Frollo wanted to comfort her but the guard had come back. "Everything alright?"

"Yes," Frollo told him. "I'm ready to leave now. I hope to hear from you, Esmerelda."

He walked away, hearing her crying and quick breaths get quieter and quieter until they faded completely.

"Let not sin reign therefore in your mortal body, that ye should obey it in the lusts thereof." -Romans 6:12

~+~

The morning was breaking and Frollo had not heard of Esmerelda changing her mind. He was distressed, desperate for her to make the right choice, but she had not. He steeled himself so he could do the job that needed to be done.

In the stone square outside Notre Dame, a pyre was built and people were beginning to gather to see the execution of the traitor and the gypsy witch.

Frollo adjusted the cuffs of his sleeves and took deep breaths. He was ready.

The doors of Notre Dame opened and Frollo stepped out into the square. People went quiet, ready for the show to start.

He looked over to see Phoebus and Esmerelda both held by guards. He looked the gypsy in the eye, but she just glared back.

Fine. She could have it her way.

Frollo began to speak. "I was given a mission by God. I, his angels, and the saints are purging the world of gypsies that defile this land. This witch, Esmerelda, is a heinous creature. She spreads her craft around Paris's streets and Notre Dame will no longer allow our city to suffer. Today, this demon will be sent back to hell where she belongs!"

The people cheered as the guards forced Esmerelda to the pyre. They tied her hands to the pole and her white dress billowed in the wind. Frollo had found something less revealing to present her to Paris in. He had decided they were unworthy of seeing her bare skin underneath the sheer cloth she had been in last night. She looked beautiful, he thought, with her raven hair blowing about. It saddened him to take the torch from a guard and approached the pyre.

He stood before her. Her green eyes pierced him. "Last chance," he whispered, "choose: me or the pyre."

She spat in his face with no hesitation.

Angered, he looked her in the eye as he tossed the torch and set the wood around her aflame. She began to cough and Frollo finally let go of his affection for her, proud that he had resisted the lust that he had for her in the end.

He walked away until he heard gasps and turned back. Quasimodo had run onto the pyre and untied Esmerelda and was running to Notre Dame with her. Frollo ran after the hunchback, following him up winding steps. He finally caught up and finds Quasimodo clutching Esmerelda and crying.

"Quasimodo, what are you doing?" He hissed.

The hunchback looked up through tears. "Dead! She's dead! You killed her!"

Frollo shook his head. "I know. But it was God's will."

"NO!" Quasimodo cried, "NO, NO, NO! GOD SAYS TO SHOW LOVE! THIS IS HATE! YOU MURDERED HER!"

He stood up, furious, and advanced on Frollo.

"Now, my boy, calm down!" Frollo tried to reason. How could he turn on him like this? "You are not thinking straight! This is a sin! The devil has a hold on you!"

"No," Quasimodo countered, finally cornering Frollo on the balcony, "He's controlling you!"

In a blur, Quasimodo pushed Frollo over the edge, sending him tumbling towards the flames. Frollo closed his eyes, ready to go to heaven.

His only regret was that he never finished his mission.

"The wicked shall see it, and be grieved; he shall gnash with his teeth, and melt away: the desire of the wicked shall perish." -Psalms 112:10


End file.
